


The Easter Dead

by CFM (Catatonic)



Category: Army of Darkness, Ashley J. Williams - Fandom, evil dead - Fandom
Genre: Book of the Dead, Easter, Easter Bunny, Funny, Necronomicon, Snoopy, The Easter Beagle, The Easter Bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:05:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catatonic/pseuds/CFM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Easter-themed nonsense story involving Ash Williams and a made-up old lady</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Easter Dead

Ash took a deep breath as he stepped up the highly decorated porch. There were bunnies and flowers and birds and bonnets. Also ribbons and candy – and artificial grass strung along the railing.

“Geesh.” Ash arched an eyebrow. “Think that's enough, Mrs. Mulligan?” he said to himself. “Even the bonnets are wearing bonnets.”

The air was chilly for spring time. This was true. Ash raised his right fist and the door opened softly; almost prematurely to his knockings.

“Ashley!” cheered the malnourished woman. “So glad to see you.” she added with a maternal warmth in her tone.

“Heh. You too Mrs. Mulligan.” And his tone was neither filial nor homesick. “Here's your dinners and basket, Mrs. Mulligan.” He grinned and returned her hugs (her shrivelling head came just below his thorax). 

“Oh.” She remembered something. She clicked on the television, lowered herself into her rocker, and gestured for Ash to make himself comfortable too. “Are you free to stick around for supper, Ashley?”

“You bet, Mrs. Mulligan!” He wasn't actually, of course.  Our awkward hero was a rather busy man.

***

Dinner was eaten quickly and Ashley was presently doing the dishes. He stood at the sink swirling a soapy, swarthy, sponge around the plate as he listened to the finale of Mrs. Mulligan's hour-long story. He daubed the plat dry with an equally swarthy dish cloth.

“Jerry's out of," she coughed, "visiting family this year,” she looked downward. Jerry was her husband of fifty-five years. The Easter Beagle was being shown on television. And if its any indication to Ashley's plight, Mrs. M. was wearing her hearing aids.

“Would you do me a favour, Ashley dear?”

“Anything.” He answered readily. _What's the worst it could be? Painting eggs?_

“Hey! Wait a minute, Mrs. Mulligan. I thought ol' Jerr was dece --”

“As I said. . .Jerry's out visiting family. . .”

There was something seemingly ominous is her voice just then; Ashley thought maybe she'd suddenly sprout wings and spout acid all over. He didn't have his chainsaw attached to his stump and his rifle wasn't nestled on his back strap either. “At least be a rabid granny when a fellow is prepared,” he thought.

***

“Ho-ho-ho. Happy Easter!” Ash threw down a sack of plastic eggs and exhaled tiredly. The mall centre was buzzing with activity. And there were bunnies and flowers and birds and bonnets. Also ribbons and candy – and artificial grass strung along the roof of the giant “Rabbit Hut” where Ashley sat with a little girl on his knee.

“Playing Peter Cottontail wasn't part of the deal,” thought Ashley, “Why did I ever volunteer for that 'Dinners for Spinsters' anyway? A soft heart?  So Jerry used to be the department store variety Easter Bunny, okay. But Jerry Mulligan partying with relatives – I thought he died three years ago!” Ash's mind paced and he shook his knee impatiently as one-kid-after-the-other played with the synthetic whiskers attached to his fuzzy-eared hat.  The tip of his nose was coloured pink.  “Chainsaw's in the shop; rifle's at home; Necron – ” Ash's heart fluttered worriedly. “The goddang spell book's at Mrs. Mulligans!”

***

“Mrs. Mulligan! It's me, Ashley Williams! Can you come an' unlock the door please?”

The door opened softly again but Mrs. Mulligan was nowhere in sight.

“Mrs. M?” Ash peeped into the two-dimensional hallway and then back around the kitchen and into the bathroom.

Mrs. Mulligan came rushing into the house from the front door.

“Ashley! Ashley dear! There's something terrible out there! Oh, its just terrible!  I hate it!”

“Calmly, Mrs. Mulligan. I can't get rid of – help you,” he chuckled, “if you don't tell me what happened.”

“W-well. Snoopy went to another commercial, you see.”

“And?”

“Well, so I thought I'd start some cookies to bring next door for the Jones children.”

“And?”

“I was looking around for the book!” she hissed furiously.

“C-c-cook book, Mrs. M?” gulped Ash.

“Ooh!” She stamped her foot. “Do you know I've had those very same recipes for more'an thirty-five years!”

“And?”

“They had the nerve to just up an' growl at me! – Me!” she poked on her bony chest and drew her lips together indignantly.

Ashley shifted his eyes, nonplussed.

“I threw that thing out in the yard, I was so frustrated.”

Ash tried to explain that its was a tome of incantations.

“Yes! Those cookies certainly will work magic on an empty stomach!” chirped Mrs. Mulligan.

Ashley chuckled, nonplussed.

“I aught to give that old thing to the Goodwill anyhow,” Mrs. Mulligan groaned pensively as she threw down her hand and seated herself back in her rocker. The green bars of “vol” increasingly moving toward the right of the bubble screen tv.

“No! Don't. . .give it away, heh. Why I'll be perfectly glad to have those old recipes, Mrs. M.” He rolled his eyes and tried to creep out the door before Snoopy went to commercials again.

 

 


End file.
